The Marksman and his Daughter
The waifish blonde trembles, soothed only partly by the stern man's whispered reassurances, as he straps her hand and foot to a target board.
Close up, you see makeup and careful costuming has been used to make him seem older and her younger. He is surely not old enough to be her father; probably her brother, instead. Her childlike appearance is part of the act. Vulnerability.
Blindfold, the man hurls knives hard enough to sink them half their length into the board, skimming the girl's skin. An apple balanced on her head is split in two.
The gun is a surprise. A semiautomatic rifle. He throws away the blindfold, and you see nervous sweat beading on his brow as well as hers. He takes aim.
Bullets rip through the air, striking the board, outlining the girl's body closely, right down to the gaps between her fingers. The shots come faster, the sound becoming a roar.
Finally it stops, the gun barrel smoking.
The board collapses, leaving only the girl's outline. The straps cut through, she steps away from the board. Her dirndl splits away, exposing a spangled leotard. She bows and beams, unharmed, and the Marksman runs to embrace her.